Page 55 of The Other Side of Paradise (Story of Paradise #2)

Allison

Holy shit.

I was usually a little more eloquent than that, but my brain had been on loop repeating that to myself since the moment I’d seen Stella in the doorway. Since the moment she’d taken my hand and led me out to go with her, wherever it was she was going. Since the moment she’d kissed me.

“It was kinda ugly,” she said, speaking casually, her voice bright, as I started the car, music coming on, and I turned it down immediately, not wanting literally anything to get in the way of hearing Stella.

She pulled down the visor mirror, fussing with her hair.

“We had a big fight at the flight gate… well, we say we, but it was mostly me yelling at everyone for being shitty. And I yelled at them that I was bisexual too and stormed out.”

“Oh. Shit.” Stella yelling at terrible people was hot. Now wasn’t the time to say that, though. “You came out to everyone? Um… is it… I mean, I guess I know how it went, but only in that you stormed out.”

She laughed, shutting the mirror and turning to me with a tired look, dark rings under her eyes, but a sweet, genuine smile all the same. “I don’t give a damn,” she laughed. “I like being honest with who I am. I don’t care what they think. But… Mom’s supportive. Oscar… doesn’t care. And Dad…”

I winced. “Yeah?”

She looked past me, her features softening. “He called me after I got out of the airport.”

“Oh, shit.”

“He was getting coffee.”

“Oh my god. Again?”

“Well, it was a flimsy pretext. He, um… he apologized. Said he loved me and that he hadn’t been fair to me and that he wanted to make things right.”

I stared at her for a long time as the knot slowly unwound in my chest, and I softened, relaxing into the seat. “That’s… that’s amazing,” I said. “You think he really means it?”

“I think so, yeah. And he’s supportive of my sexuality, too.” She turned to the dashboard, fussing with the AC vent. “He said you seem like a good woman with a good head on your shoulders and that I should talk to you.”

Stella’s dad. Mark Adams Bell, father of Stella Valerie Bell, had called her to tell her she should give me, Allison Holt, a chance. Genuinely, what the fuck? “Huh?” was all I managed at length, and she laughed, turning back to me and putting a hand on my cheek. My brain fried.

“My thoughts exactly,” she said. “But hey. He’s right, you know. And I don’t say that lightly about my dad. I, uh… I’d be sad. If I had this second chance and let it go to waste.”

“A second chance at what?” God, I was so fucking stupid. I knew full well what she was saying. It just didn’t make sense.

“Well.” She brushed her thumb over my lower lip, and I felt like I’d lose my mind, my heart going a mile a minute.

“I don’t have anything waiting for me on the mainland anyway.

Since I lost my internship, all my summer plans disappeared, so…

there’s no real reason I have to hurry back.

If I haven’t lost my novelty factor, gotten too boring to you, maybe we could… pick up where we left off?”

“Stella—Jesus Christ, you’re not boring,” I blurted.

“You’re—I mean, you’re the most radiant person I’ve ever…

just… I swear you light up the sky when you’re around.

” I was being corny and stupid and weird but I didn’t care.

I could hardly stop the words from tumbling out anyway.

“I just—you’re so incredibly you, so confident, so sure in who you are, it’s…

” I laughed, small and breathy, shaking my head incredulously.

“You don’t realize how much you light things up everywhere you go.

For your sister, for Brooklyn, for… for me.

None of this would have happened without you.

Wouldn’t have been able to confront everything with that Isabel girl, wouldn’t have been able to face things with your family, wouldn’t… you just… you’re just amazing.”

She frowned sharply. “Oh, god. You mean you talked it out? About Ellie?”

“Oh, yeah.” That felt like a lifetime ago. Jesus. “Isabel spent like two hours telling me off and sending me pictures of myself to tell me I was way too ugly for her girlfriend to be interested in anyway.”

“Oh my god, I’m going to kill her.”

“Please don’t. You’d go to jail and I’d miss you.”

She laughed, eyes sparkling as she looked across the center console and into mine, and she said, “Fuck all of that. That stupid girl and my stupid family and everybody who thinks we shouldn’t do this, that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that you’re here, and I’m here, and I think… I’m not ready to leave quite yet.”

“I’m not… ready for that either. Ready for you to leave, I mean, not like ready for me to leave—I mean, I’m not—I wasn’t leaving until the end of the summer, so I won’t be ready until then anyway—just—”

“Allison?”

“Y-yeah?”

She smiled, and it was like the sun coming out after the rain. “Can I kiss you?”

“Wow. Um, yeah. As much as you like. I’m, uh, I’m into that.”

“Okay, good. Me too. Turns out.” She leaned across the center console, and my soul left my body when she kissed me—her lips against mine, soft and sweet and perfect in every possible way.

I kissed her back, holding the back of her head, trailing my fingers through her hair, my mind reeling that it was her —that Stella was here, kissing me, asking to keep kissing me as long as we liked.

Dating? Did that mean we were dating? Was I fucking dating Stella Valerie Bell?

She pulled away with her brow knotted, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she said, and I withered.

“Oh. Yeah. Um… that was just… I, uh, I was just kind of in shock that I was kissing you. Sorry, I didn’t realize you could hear that noise.”

She laughed, biting down on a huge smile, and she said, “I’m planning on doing a lot more than just kissing you.”

“Oh. Uh.” My body was suddenly very warm. Must have been a hot day today. “Like, um… like doing more paintings together?”

“Sure, but I more meant, you know, how I’d fuck you in this car right now if we didn’t have a dinner order waiting for pickup.”

I let out an awkward whimper I didn’t mean to do out loud. “I, uh,” I managed. “I forgot about dinner.”

She licked her lips, leaning in close, and she ghosted her lips over mine—hovering there at the corner of my mouth, her lips hot and slick against mine, as she put her hand under my shirt, brushing my skin just above the band of my pants.

“I think I can make you forget about anything,” she whispered, and I let out a short whoosh of air.

“Yeah—accurate—wow—um—hi. Oh my god. Are you trying to turn me on right now?”

“I kind of thought it was obvious.”

“St-Stella. I’m supposed to drive us somewhere.”

She laughed, kissing my jawline as she brushed her hand over my thigh before she pulled back to sit upright, and I immediately regretted bringing up the part about driving somewhere. “Well, you can think about it while you drive.”

“I’m going to crash.”

“Fair’s fair, I mean. I’m sitting here thinking about how you masturbated in that seat thinking about me.”

“Uh. Yep. It was, um, it was great, in case you’re wondering.”

“You’ll have to show me later,” she said, voice low, and I pushed out a low breath.

“Oh my god. Stella—do you want me to drive?”

“Mm-hm. Nice and slow so you can be very safe and careful. And also so that you’re nice and ready for when I do get to fuck you later.”

“Wow. Yeah, okay. Does that mean now I get to tell you that it’s hot hearing about you yelling at people putting them in their place?”

She laughed, eyes sparkling, as she settled into her seat and buckled her seatbelt. “Do you want me to try being a little aggressive tonight? Get a little bossy and put you in your place?”

I put my hands up. “I mean, only if you want me to come so hard I levitate.”

“I look forward to seeing that,” she laughed, and she kissed me on the cheek before she settled back into her seat, leaving me to drive. Which, yeah. I knew how to do that.

I did think about Stella the whole way, though.

We really weren’t a moment too soon—the café was closing up soon by the time we arrived, and Stella gave me another kiss before she hopped out of the car, heading inside. I found myself sitting breathless watching her through the windshield, just thinking on repeat she’ll still be here tomorrow.

I pulled up my phone, a text from Brooklyn first thing on the screen: congrats. I laughed to myself, opening it, swiping a reply.

I don’t know how this fucking happened

So she’s staying? With you?

she’s staying, I sent, and then, with me, and, do you mind if I’m messaging you every five minutes on how to keep a girl interested in me? there is literally nothing I wouldn’t do for her

Only if I get the right to make fun of you for being a huge sap.

granted, I sent with a laugh, and I chewed my cheek, typing another reply. you know she’s right, about Ryan

I hope so, she sent back. I already made my move. Ball’s in her court.

I sat forward, suddenly alert. you did?? when??

just now, she sent, and then a link to an article—written by Ryan Bell.

Personal update, it was titled. I’d never actually looked up her writing.

I opened the link, and I felt the thrill secondhand while reading it—describing her situation, having just missed her flight, sitting alone in a hotel room.

I know I mentioned the ex-boyfriend fiasco in the last personal update, it read a few paragraphs in, but I didn’t mention the other part of it.

The more important part. The part with the woman who gave me a safe place to land when everything fell apart, the woman who inspired me to tell my truth to my family and to my supporters, and the woman who’s made this whole experience worth having.

I’ve kept quiet about this because I didn’t want to polarize anybody, but I can’t keep quiet on my own self, especially not when I’m writing on matters of human rights and equality. I’m bisexual, and my family isn’t on speaking terms with me anymore over it.